Wake Up!
by DyehReeCah
Summary: She was just a normal girl, until she died, and... did she really died? Guess not, because if heaven looks like a small, dark, and cramped room, well, she better go back to the living world. And why does she became a- he? And there's this lady who looked like Petunia Dursley from Harry Potter calling her, err.. him, Harry Potter? Harry Potter! Bloody hell!
1. Chapter 1

Hi guys! This is some HP fanfiction that came up on my mind just this moment (August 18, 2016; 8:58 pm). Anyways, this is a reincarnation fic.

 **Title:** Wake Up!

 **Date:** August 18, 2016

 **Summary:** She was just a normal girl—a boring and dull one with an obsession in reading novels. But after set of unfortunate events, she woke up in a different house, with a different body, and a different gender. And bloody hell! Why do a Petunia Dursley look alike in the Harry Potter Series calls her, erm, him—Harry Potter? Bloody hell!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. I'm just a fan, and all of the characters, places, scenes, and others that is in the HP books and movies belongs to the genius author named J.K. Rowling.

 **Warning:** Grammatical and Typographical Error Ahead!

Chapter One: The-Girl-Destined-To-Be

Truth to be told, for the fifteen years of living, Rika Rosalin can count the good things she've done in life and a million bad things she committed.

She was a sinner.

Lying? Easy, that one's like breathing. Being jealous? U-huh. Rebelling? That's the spirit!

But, despite being a sinner, she has a good side, a specialty that no one could take away—

And that is pouring her heart on any work related by ink and paper.

Writing.

It all started since second grade, she was seven back then. She has this condition, which name she forgotten as time passed. Whenever she cried hard, her body won't move, she'll stop breathing that can result to suffocation or even worse,

Death.

Many doctors have said it was a defect during her birth because her mother was forty back then.

They said. "She needs a surgery as soon as possible."

Her teachers believed that it was her respiratory system that's damaged.

"Well, she's always sick." They reasoned.

All of the kids in the school was afraid to play with her because their parents told them she has a problem on the heart that anything that would upset her could kill her.

"Go away cry baby, we don't want the likes of you. You're too weak, always crying, and mom says you'll die if you cry. And if you'll die because you cried of losing in a game, they'll put the blame on us." The children would spat, glaring at her.

Well, her parents explained clearly the situation, but everyone knows that a story travels fast and has a huge possibility to be revised without the real narrator.

Anyway, her mother was always there, smiling and taking care of her. Rika knew she loves her. Always asking Rika if she ate already, reminding her to sleep early, and protecting her from bullies. But as the years passed her mother became cold. At the start, it was just simple things like glaring at her. Then it became shouting sessions then a slap.

"You should have died after birth." her mother always says.

That's the time where she started reading anything, and writing.

… _Dear Diary,_

 _Mummy slapped me on my cheeks. It hurts. It stings. What did I do to earn that?_

… _Dear Diary,_

 _She scolded me again, in public…_

… _Dear Diary,_

 _Hi Diary, I know you're only the friend I can trust._

It was hard. She didn't want to voice out her problems because she don't want to be weak, plus she has no friends. So she sheltered herself in reading _Hansel and Gretel, Snow White, Peter Pan, Alice and the Wonderland_ , and by mercy _, encyclopaedias_ —and many more. She was happy during her usual reading time—because she can be a sorcerer, an evil queen, a fairy, or a world traveller— yes indeed.

The only person in the family that supported Rika was her father. Oh, her father, her sweet, sweet father. He was there when her mother was not. Fetching her to school every day, listening to her rants, lifting her spirits when she's down. Every single school meetings and special events, her father was there.

Only her father.

And Jerry? He was the only playmate she has since she could talk, and she was grateful about that, but then again the boy is a goody two shoes, the perfect son. Always doing good and nothing bad.

"You should do what your younger brother does so we can worry of nothing." her mother always says.

Yes, call this angst, whatever you want, but Rika's just telling the truth.

Writing was her most kept secret, her dirty little secret that knows her emotions. It was a personal and private talent of hers.

Until she was seventh grade, when some tenth grade students dragged her to the journalism room by force.

Not just some normal tenth graders, the top one and top two of the whole tenth graders in school—just because she was a look alike of some Korean child star they know and love.

Well, she suggested they buy some eye glasses, because there's no way that the eyes they possess were not damaged.

Plus, she was not a top student, and hey, the new and former school journalist were expecting her to fail because she was just Rika with no talent.

But after passing her very first article, the journalist teacher praised her—she was a gem in writing they say. Of course, the praises made Rika happy and more enthusiastic in creating articles. She practiced writing as often as she can. For the first year on _The Voice's Ink_ , their school newspaper, she became a feature writer with one article on the newspaper. She kept reading and reading any useful material to learn. The next year, she published nine articles in their school publicly as a science and technology writer, winning two a contest that year. Third year, she became the youngest Editor-in-Chief to get the position, qualified into a regional contest, won a journalistic contest, and became one of the most skilled junior high school essayist by winning many competition as the champion.

And even though many parent thinks that she was unworthy of such position, she ignored them, because every article she made was her own work. She enhanced her skill, reading and writing when she can, because every contest she won was a result of self-reviewing, all because no one dared to help her except maybe her family.

They don't know how hard to have a week or months of sleepless nights committed to create, revise, and edit articles. They don't know how hard to achieve victory because they are just watching.

But it was worthwhile. The bullying stopped. They started to respect or ignore her sickly condition. The cry baby Rika was long forgotten, it was replaced by _student writer Rika._

She don't asked her parents for new gadgets or outfit. She wouldn't spent her money for make-up or girly things. She do not interrupt her parents because of a party an she wants to go. No. All she asks is to let her read and buy books from her allowance, let her write, type on her laptop, and even a ratty clothes would be enough.

Even now, as a tenth grader, she was still the Editor-In-Chief, but still, her whole life was the same.

"Hey sis," Jerry called. "it's already dinner."

Rika was rereading _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling_. "Okay, I'll just finish this one." she said, putting the book on her table. She always love to read during night times. It was always her goal to read at least two novels a month. At least, because with all her work in school in journalism, covering all school events and trying to pass tenth grade—she was too busy to even read a single chapter like the old times.

Aside from that, she received the letter, and carried a good news. Grabbing the brown envelope containing her maybe, _big chance_ , Rika put the envelope to her jean's pocket and smiled brightly.

Rika immediately went to the dining room, grabbed a plate and filled it with spaghetti, took a small bowl of soup, then snatched a glass of water while sitting between her father and brother. She ate silently, ignoring her mother.

"Rika." her father said softly. He was old, nearing seventy, with wrinkles prominent in his face.

"Yes Papa?" Rika asked. It was her habit to call him 'Papa'. It was an endearment.

"How's schooling?"

"Tiring, I revised some articles, then went into the library for a group project. Sorry if I got late Papa…"

"No Ric, it's okay, no harm done. I know you're busy with all the student work in school." he replied, ruffling her daughter's hair. Rika chuckled. "And, could you accompany me tomorrow at the park, let's jog, father and daughter bonding, then let's eat at Liza's diner." He whispered to her ear. Rika nodded cheerfully.

"I'll tell you a good, good news too Papa, after dinner." Rika whispered back.

"Rika," Jerry started, gaining the attention of his sister. "Can you help me with an assignment?"

Rika frowned. "Uh, nuh, sorry J, can't do. I have to chill a bit, too much work after dismissal." She smiled tiredly.

Her younger brother bowed his head.

"But you can check my notes last, last, year. I'm sure I have notes there to help you brother."

"Thanks!" Jerry beamed. "You're the best sis!" then dashed towards your room.

Rika only smiled.

For the first time in the meal, she looked at her mother, who was scowling at her. Rika sighed. Since she got the position as an Editor-In-Chief, her mother stopped reprimanding her about things. Sometimes she would praise her whenever she won a contest or got a high score on a test. Usually though, whenever her mother saw something she didn't like at Rika, she would talk to her with a hidden meanings, which she usually understands which make Rika angrier.

Oral scolding is more bearable than her mother's new tactic.

She finished her meal not long after that. She stood up and was about to pull out the brown envelope to her jeans when someone touched her wrists.

"Rika," it was her mother. "We need to talk."

Rika nodded stiffly.

"Maybe I should go to our room dear and start my take home inventory in the shop." Mr Rosalin said to his wife.

"Go on then, I'll follow you shortly." Mrs Rosalin replied.

After that, Rika's father went upstairs.

"Rika," her mother started. "I think you should quit."

"Quit what?"

"Journalism."

Rika's eye widened.

"I'll never repeat what I said. Quit journalism?"

No… no. This can't be happening.

"You're joking, right?"

"No I'm not."

Oh yes she's not. Mrs Alicia Rosalin, wife to Mr Robert Rosalin, who has two children—Rika and Jerry—was not a woman of humor.

"Please tell me you're joking." Rika pleaded.

"No."

"…Why?" she asked, voice broken.

"It's taking a toll on your grades."

"No, it's not! It's still the same! Eighty-five eighty-six eighty-eight ninety-plus even. I'm doing my best!"

"No you're not."

"Yes I do!"

Mrs Rosalin sighed. "Can't you see? You can't even tutor your brother this days. Years ago, you do… but now? Not even the slightest. And you used to be on the top ten, five even. You used to be the third ranker on your school. Because of that stupid extracurricular you call jo—"

"Don't you dare call that stupid!" Rika shouted.

Mrs Rosalin glared at her. "You even raised your voice because of that worth—"

"It's not worthless!"

"Yes. It. Is." her mother sneered.

Rika could feel the tears threatening to fall. No, it can't be, her mother wouldn't. She couldn't quit. She worked hard to earn that position. It was… it was what saved her from being alone. Writing. Letting every work of her be known, even just for a few individuals. It was her only true possession. It saved her from being an emotional wrecked. It saved her from the darkness of problems.

 _Writing let her cope with her life._

It was the road of her emotions.

"If you can win any competition, surely, you can snatch the valedictorian position of that Smith brat. If you quit, you can do that, and tutor your brother to raise his grades." her mother said.

"That's unfair…" Rika said lowly. "Jerry's an athlete, and your letting him keep it while I don't?" the tears finally fell on her face. "Why?"

"He's responsible. He helps me, and he's your younger bro—"

"YOUNGER BROTHER! YES HE IS! YEAH DAMN STRAIGHT HE'S THE PERFECT SON JERRY WHO CAN'T DO ANY THING BAD! WHILE ME I'M THE IRRESPONSIBLE SICKLY RIKA WHO ALWAYS SCREW EVERYTHING!" Rika shouted, voice louder than ever as tears continues to fall freely. "CAN YOU GIVE ME JUST AN OUNCE OF HAPPINESS?! MOTHER KNOWS BEST! HECK, TO HELL FOR THE POOR EXCUSE OF A HUMAN WHO MADE THAT SAYING! IT WAS ALWAYS PAPA WHO'S ON MY SIDE SUPPORTING ME! YOU SUCK AT BEING A MOTHER!"

A slap was heard.

Mrs Rosalin glared. "I'm your mother, you respect me."

Rika laughed, body shaking and tembling at stress. "Do you know how painful it is to me when you boast about Jerry while degrading me?" she whispered. "No… you don't. I… just please, just let me finish my term for journalism this year. I promise I'll make it to the nationals."

"No you won't. You failed to qualify last year for the nationals. And it's time you mature on your studies. You'll be a doctor and that's final." That made Rika cry more.

"I don't want to. I want to be a journalist."

"I am the one to decide that! I am the one who will pay your college tuition young lady! Quit that blasted extracurricular or it's your future that would be blasted!" Mrs Rosalin scolded.

"Maybe yes, maybe no…" Rika whispered.

"….What?" her mother asked, confusion not hidden in her face.

Rika finally pulled out the brown envelope from her pockets and gave it to Mrs Rosalin. She opened it and started to read its contents.

"A school offered me a scholarship for journalism, I just have to switch schools when I graduate junior high and become a senior high. That's full grant, good for until I finish college. There's a dormitory there… I… I… just have to graduate junior high. I accepted the offer. I wanted to call Papa and J after you finished eating, but I guess there's bad blood between us… right? You know? I'm just going to Jessica for the night. Don't worry… graduation's just three months from now on. I just want to be anywhere but here." With that Rika wiped her face from tears and walked out of the house.

Too bad she didn't see her mother's pale and horrified face, just looking at the letter she held.

Rika was walking on the sidewalk. Her head was down as she trembled. It was cold dammit, and she forgot to bring a jacket.

Her mother… knew how hard she worked for everything she has now. Why can't she see it? Rika laughed bitterly. At least she'll be off to a school for a good six years and her mother won't see her anymore. Maybe that, this… maybe this is all for the better. Leaving. Anywhere but here.

What Rika didn't was that she crossed a pedestrian lane as a car speed towards her. Before she could truly look at the car, all she saw was light. Her body flew a few feet away, bones broken and mouth coughing blood… and then darkness.

 **Author's note:** Sorry for the crappy first chapter. Second chapter is the real start. Just wait for the update! Review! Favorite! Follow!

Till next time!

(08/19/2016)


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Wake Up!

 **Summary, Disclaimer and Warning:** See chapter one for details.

 **Date:** August 20, 2016

 **Author's note:** Hello guys! I kind of decided to update now. I'm currently writing at 8:07 a.m. August 20, 2016, Saturday. I know I just publish this fanfiction last night but I'm up to writing now.

Also, a high five and thanks for _Draco Swan_ and _Roxanne Le Fay_!

That's all!

Chapter Two: Wake Up!

Alicia Rosalin sat beside her daughter's bedside, holding Rika's hand. Alicia was paler, thinner, and unkempt than her usual clean look the last time she saw her daughter's eye.

And that was three months ago.

Her daughter, she was always sick when she was young, always has a doctor appointment, a common prisoner of medications. She was always crying, and Alicia was there whenever she can.

But everyone knew—her neighbours, the teachers, even Robert—that anytime, Rika could die of a disease.

Her daughter was not meant to live that _long_ ,a decade and a half of living was a miracle—that's what the doctors have said, all of them.

She wake up every night worrying about her daughter. What if Rika die tomorrow? What if her condition got worse? What if… What if she lost her precious daughter? Her dreams were plagued by the visualization of her daughter's funeral, her _unica iha_ ,wearing a white dress in a coffin, slowly being brought below the ground. A group of men filling the whole with soil in which her daughter lies.

She blinked back the tears. Yes, she was scared of losing her daughter, because she always imagined the sorrow and emptiness it would bring.

Alicia was used to being in control. Of her life, her job, her possession, her employees, especially her emotion; so eight years ago, she decided to be ready for anything.

To be ready for the pain of the possible death of her beloved daughter.

She distanced herself against Rika, and silently considered her as a dead person, long gone, and forgotten.

But she didn't mean this to happen!

On the bed lies Rika Rosalin, a huge scar runs from her one shoulder down to the hand. Her head was bandaged, face adorned by oxygen masked that kept her from living. Her pulse rate was being monitored, beep of life lines echoing the whole room.

The doctors told her that it was a three by ninety-seven chance that Rika would survive. Three for survival, ninety-seven for death. If she lived she'll be bedridden, unable to write because her right hand, her comrade in writing, was crushed like a powdered stone.

A Rika unable to write and move is surely a suicidal Rika if she ever survive.

What Alicia wanted is for her daughter to be secured in the future. She wanted her to be a doctor because it was easier, and a journalist life is threatening. She wanted her daughter to be safe, and not here, in a hospital, on a life and death situation.

Not this.

"I'm sorry dear… I-I…. Rika just wake up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I—please just wake up…"

Then she heard a long beep, and looked at the monitor showcasing a flat line.

"Doctor! Nurse!" Alicia shouted, checking her daughter's pulse and panicking.

Before Rika breathed her last oxygen, a loud cry of help resounded at the whole hospital.

The first thing Rika heard upon her rude awakening was a shrill voice of a woman.

"Up! Get up! Now!" the voice screeched, rapping the door ever so wildly. She looked at her surroundings. It was a room, no, more like a broom closet. A small, dark, and cramped broom closet look alike. When did she get there? Where is this place? Was she kidnapped?

"Up!" the woman screeched again.

"Okay, okay, I'm up." Rika groaned. Her eyes widened as she covered her mouth with hand. Where did that voice came from? "Hello? Hello?" she tried to speak again. It was her voice, definitely. But why is it, uh, not girlish? Not that she was like those classmate of hers who always tried to sound cute. She was about to open the door when she saw a woman with a very long neck.

"Are you up yet?" the woman demanded. She looked up and down absorbing the get up of the woman. She looked… familiar.

"Uh, yes?" Rika answered. She was about to ask what place is this when the woman spoke.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect for Duddy's birthday."

Wait, what? This woman, never mind that she seems familiar, wants her to look at a bacon? She was commanding her? They didn't know each other!

"Can you watch it yourself? You're the one cooking it." she muttered.

"What did you say?" the woman snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing…" she answered.

Again, where the hell is she? She was considering her kidnap idea in this situation, where she was abducted, and was sold at the black market and the lady bought her to be a slave.

Rika opened the door and got out of it. She noticed that the room she was sleeping a while ago was not a room… it was a cupboard.

Cupboard… why does she feel this whole thing was familiar?

All she remembered is her mother asked her to quit journalism, she and her mother had a fight, she went outside the house to walk, and then…

A car ran into her. She became a victim of a car accident.

That's when she noticed she was wearing glasses. It itched on her ears, and when she examined the glasses, it was round and held together by a lot of Scotch tape. Her clothes were four times bigger than her, and it was clearly for boys. Yup, definitely considering the slave idea.

She went with the flow and tended the bacon in the kitchen. After a few minutes, a fat man entered the kitchen.

"Comb your hair!" the man bark. Even the man, he looked familiar.

Rika was frying eggs when a fat boy who looks like the man who arrived just minutes ago in the kitchen entered with the woman. She deduced they were a family.

But looking at them, she realized why the woman look so familiar, plus her husband and her son together. And the cupboard.

They looked like the Dursley family from the Harry Potter series.

She absent-mindedly put the plates of egg and bacon in the table, looking all around the kitchen for some hidden cameras. This must be some sick joke. Maybe Jerry pranked her. She was waiting for Jerry to come out and say, "You've been Jerry'd!", but alas it didn't happen. Or maybe she was in a hospital, drugged to not feel the pain of some broken bones, and hallucinating as a result.

The Dudley-wannabe was counting gifts, but after he finished counting, his face fell.

"Thirty-six." Dudley-wannabe said, looking up at Petunia-wannabe and Vernon-wannabe. "That's two less than last year.

"Darling, you haven't counted Aunt Marge's present, it's here under the big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then" said Dudley-wannabe, going red in the face.

Rika ignored the commotion, and ate without a word, she was still busy pondering what is happening. This Dudley-wannabe was definitely a spoiled brat.

"And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?" Petunia-wannabe added.

The fat boy thought for a moment. "So I'll have thirty… thirty..."

"Thirty-nine sweetums." Petunia-wannabe cleared.

"Oh." Dudley-wannabe sat down and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then." Rika rolled her eyes, the boy can't even add a simple equation.

Vernon chuckled "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" he ruffled Dudley-wannabe's hair.

At the moment a telephone rang and Petunia-wannabe went to answer it while Vernon-wannabe watched his son unwrap a racing bike.

Rika started to think. If the Dursley family, this wannabes, are here, and this is number four Privet Drive, then, the question is… where is Harry Potter? Her eyes widened as she remembered the start of the Philosopher's Stone. No way. It can't be!

She ran outside the kitchen and searched for a mirror. Now that she noticed. She was smaller than her former five-six height. There, she saw one near the television, and grabbed it.

What she saw on the mirror was not what her face.

Green eyes, black hair, plus the round glasses. Her face was of a child and—she looked like Daniel Radcliffe acting as Harry Potter. She closed her eyes and started to touch her forehead, setting some of her black hair aside.

"Please don't be there, please don't be there…" she chanted, and opened her eyes, noticing a lightning bolt scar.

She dropped the mirror. "This is some sick prank. Or—or—or a nightmare." Maybe someone decided to change her face scar her forehead, then shipped her to some cheap version of Surrey, England. "Yes… yes. That's it. I can't be Harry Potter because he's not real, he's a fictional character and he's a boy, not a—" Her eyes widened. She touched her chest to feel her assets. It's was missing—she was breast less! She cupped her midsection to find it not flat.

"No way… this is a nightmare. I—I'm going to wake up on my comfy bed and head straight to the school." She whispered.

"Bad news, Vernon," she heard Petunia, no, Petunia-wannabe said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." Rika knew Arabella Figg from Harry Potter. If she could remember clearly she was a squib, with a lot of cats.

Rika came back to the kitchen still shaken at her discovery.

"Now what?" said Petunia, yes, Petunia, that's what she'll call her just for now, and the two others.

"We could phone Marge," Vernon suggested. Marge, Marge Dursley. Was that the lady with a dog?

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."

Rika didn't listen to their conversation after that. If this is Harry Potter, and if she was the boy-who-lived, the next thing that would happen is she'll—no, he'll accompany the Durleys plus Dudley's goons to the zoo, free a boa constrictor by accidental magic, and would be blamed for it. It was impossible because in real life magic doesn't exist. Now, referring to himself with a masculine pronoun will take long to get sed to.

Too bad he was wrong.

She was wrong. She—he tried to stop herself from talking to the boa in parseltongue, but he was oh too curious if he has the ability. A hundred points to Ravenclaw for that because for the love of everything that was holy and sacred. It cemented the idea that she was not dreaming, she was reincarnated by some sick events in a world like Harry Potter. The self-slapping and pinching helped too.

They blamed her for the escape of that boa. Vernon sent her—him, to his cupboard with no food—he was fuming, face red.

His punishment, _unfair punishment_ , was long, and if his current body, a body of a boy, was not used to the condition he was in, he would already pass out of starvation because she—now Harry, was use to proper meals when he died.

Yes, Rika—Harry remembered the time when he died, at least when he died at that lifetime. And he was to fully accept yet that this whole ordeal was in fact real. But, he was still wishing that this is a dream, because Voldemort, Umbridge, Bellatrix, Lucius, Draco, and god forbid, Albus Dumbledore were not the top people she want to meet personally. How could she survive those villains? And in the book, Harry was crucioed courtesy of Voldy! Plus the blood quill, he has hemophobia damn it! How can she—he, a simple, if not wizard, survive the multiple deaths of loved ones and trials that fate will slap on his face in the future?

So he planned. He listed all the spells he remembered in Harry Potter. Not many, but still, it will help. He also listed all his problems in this life on a notebook.

 _-How to defeat Moldyshorts faster than in the books_

 _-How to survive the future encounter with Quirellmort._

 _-Befriending Snape. (He's just misunderstood.)_

 _-How to prevent Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, and many other people destined to die._

 _-Hunting possible-to-hunt Hocruxes_.

That was his main problems this first year, which were mostly basic. He tried to remember the whole series, summarizing what happen during the series and also writing it on the same notebook. In case magically he forgot, at least he will still know what knowledge he has now. He promised himself to change all the bad things that happened on the book.

By the time he was allowed to come out of the cupboard again, it was already holidays. Dudley was to go at Smelting's, while he goes to Stonewall High. He knows it won't happen, hopefully, because in the book, Harry Potter went to Hogwarts.

Everyone in the umber four heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail Dudley," Vernon said.

"Make Harry get it." Harry flinched. He was not used to his 'new' name.

"Get the mail Harry."

Harry knew what will happen next. He ran to get the mail as fast as he can. There were three things on the doormat, but what took his attention was a letter for him, he opened it.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Littler Whinging

Surrey

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHRAFT and WIZARDRY

Harry grinned. So it has started.

Showtime.

 **Author's Note** : So I decided to update this early because I'm a slow typer and I am in a different timezone. Thanks for reading!


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